


your head on my shoulder

by cherryvanilla



Category: Fucking Åmål | Show Me Love (1998)
Genre: 1990s, Adulthood, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/F, First Love, Growing Up, Nostalgia, Pop Culture, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: She’s on her second glass of wine, fourth “oh my god it’s beenso long” conversation, and third plate of hummus and crispbread when Elin Olsson walks into the room and back in Agnes’ life.





	your head on my shoulder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katekane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katekane/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I… completely forgot they were not in the same grade in the film, and didn’t start my rewatch before I basically finished all of this. So there’s a bit of hand-wavey blink-and-you’ll-miss-it explanation within, while also managing to preserve their ages. 
> 
> Title and lyrics by Robyn, naturally (its as if it was meant to be that she put out an album this year, with a song that so completely fit them). 
> 
> There is a mix that goes along with this fic, complete with mostly Swedish artists and now & then cover art. For now, that can be found as a download a download here: https://www.filehosting.org/file/details/770943/your%20head%20on%20my%20shoulder%20(mix).zip
> 
>  ~~Please check back after reveal for the 8tracks mix~~. 8tracks mix is [here](https://8tracks.com/sometimesalways/your-head-on-my-shoulder)
> 
> Thanks to duckgirlie for beta.

_There's this empty space you left behind  
All the love you gave, it still defines me_

Agnes had been scared of a lot of things at sixteen. Her sexuality and people knowing about it hadn’t been one of them. While brimming with that particular type of angst that seemed irrevocably tied to growing up in the 90s -- irregardless of your geographical local -- that had been the one clarity in her life. She’d told her dad that twenty-five years from 1998 was an eternity, and that she’d rather be happy now. And yet here she was, twenty-years on and thirty-six years old and it hadn’t felt like an eternity. In fact, she still felt like she was a teenager in many ways; living in a perpetual state of arrested development despite not technically being a “millennial”. 

All Agnes had wanted at sixteen was to be happy and to have a girlfriend. She didn’t know then that happiness would be irrevocably tied up in a girl with blonde hair, even after that girl was no longer in the picture.  
__________________________

In 1998, everything was Elin. Marching down that hall, saying fuck you to the world, was all encapsulating. An exhilarating, heady rush that felt like something out of the end of a John Hughes or Cameron Crowe movie, rather than real life. Because there’s always the next day. What happens when The Breakfast Club actually have to face one another in the school halls? What happens to Lloyd and Diane after that fateful ding? That’s the shit they don’t show, the shit you never see. Agnes was pretty obsessed with American cinema and pop culture back then, and she hasn’t changed much in twenty years. Except know she knows life isn’t like the movies. In fact, it begins after the credits roll. 

Things were good between them for a while, great even. Elin was gorgeous and bright-eyed and -- once she’d figured out her sexual identity and stopped playing games -- a pretty terrific girlfriend. But Åmål was never for Elin, and Agnes wasn’t ignorant of that fact. 

Elin was able to take some accelerated courses so she could graduate a year early from compulsory school. “We need to graduate together or we will never last!” Elin exclaimed one night, during one of her melodramatic fits. Agnes had found it romantic, to be honest. But nothing is ever that simple. They graduated on time and got through upper secondary school together in their own world, ignoring the boredom of Åmål and their idiotic classmates. By the time they graduated, Elin was absolutely set on going to a programme in Stockholm. They fought over University, moving, and navigating a long-distance relationship. Elin so aggressively wanted to leave Åmål, and Agnes was self-centered and insecure enough back then to equate that with wanting to leave _her_. They never really stood a chance once Elin was living in Stockholm, trying to score modeling jobs and partying with older people, while also going through the psychology programme. Agnes was studying six hours away at Lund University, due to its great creative writing programme. 

When all was said and done, they lasted a total of four years. Four years more than any of their classmates probably ever would have expected. Elin was her first love, first kiss, first orgasm that didn’t come from her own hand. 

And then she was just someone Agnes once knew. A faded polaroid you come across in a box buried at the bottom of your closet. It was weird, how much people can mean at one point in your life, before devolving into something of a distant memory. Agnes shifted from writing about mass murder to writing about first love and first heartbreak, submitting a novella for her senior writing seminar. She titled it Show Me Love, appropriated from the Robyn song of course. 

Her professor found it highly realistic and gave her an A. Agnes lit a match when back at her shared dorm room that night and watched the paper burn in a bin. 

She never wrote about love again.  
____________________________

Agnes has had two girlfriends in the past twenty years that weren’t named Elin. One, Maria, lasted five years. They met just out of University and the shared transition into The Real World was companionable. The problem was they were more friends than anything else and Agnes had no idea what she was doing four years down the line, sleeping in the same bed with someone who might as well just be a roommate. So they split up. A few years later she met Elena. Agnes nearly didn’t date her for the glaringly obvious reason, but she’d caved and they lasted a year. Despite the name commonality, Elena and Elin were nothing alike. 

That was part of the problem. 

Agnes got too caught up in her career after that, a university creative writing teacher in Stockholm. She put her love life on the backburner and ignored the ten year upper secondary school invitation that came through her Facebook account. When the fifteen year one came, she was going to ignore that too, except it hit her that it’s been twenty years since she and Elin first got together. Twenty years since Elin literally saved her life the night of her sixteenth birthday party. 

Possibly for that very reason, she hasn’t clicked ‘decline’ yet. 

The possibility of seeing Elin again is appealing. It’s a truism she affords herself when she’s being self-aware and not trying to fake her way through adulthood. Elin has a Facebook account. It’s mostly private but her location is visible. 

Stockholm. 

The odds of them both ending up in Stockholm is mildly ironic. Agnes can’t help but wonder how many near-miss encounters they might have had. 

It would be better if she could show up to the reunion in a relationship, while secretly hoping for something to dim in Elin’s eyes as their gazes meet across the room. But those are Agnes’ thoughts at her most petty. 

On the flip side, Elin could be with someone or married or god knows what and Agnes would be none the wiser. Clicking that “yes” RSVP would be erasing her nostalgic memories and replacing them with reality. 

It’s not an easy choice, by far.  
_______________________

In the end, she makes a list on her computer, which she hasn’t stopped doing since high school. 

I will go to the reunion.  
I will not seek out Elin when there. 

The reunion is actually held at their compulsory school instead, for reasons unknown to Agnes. Bigger gymnasium? Double booking? She has no idea, really, All she knows is that she walks into that damn gymnasium, the same one where she first looked at a girl and thought, “Yeah, okay.” The same one where she was ridiculed for her skinny bird legs and stringy (“dirty”) hair. She walks into that gymnasium and feels all of seventeen again, slight and awkward. There are people in dresses and suit jackets. Agnes showed up in her jeans and flannel shirt, because aesthetically she hadn’t changed much from her 90s self.

She recognizes a few faces, tells herself she isn’t looking for a mop of blond hair. 

She’s on her second glass of wine, fourth “oh my god it’s been _so long_ ” conversation, and third plate of hummus and crispbread when Elin Olsson walks into the room and back in Agnes’ life. 

Their eyes don’t meet immediately like the climatic scene of a terrible American rom-com. Instead, Elin gets stopped by five people before she’s gone fifty feet, and she greets everyone with a wide smile that is as fake as Camilla’s boobs. 

Agnes smiles into her beer glass and sneaks glances at her first love who apparently hasn’t changed much at all. Her hair is still long, blond and wavy. She’s wearing bright red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and a leather jacket. She’s dressed down just like Agnes, and something flutters in her heart at that. Agnes is dipping at the last bit of hummus on her plate when their eyes meet for the first time in fourteen years. There’s no electricity or fireworks or any of that romantical shit. There’s only her stomach swooping like she just free fell and the overwhelming desire to run away. 

And then it _is_ like a movie: Elin making her way through a parting -- seemingly in slow motion -- crowd, her eyes on no one other than Agnes. Agnes swallows hard, darts her eyes to the right, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It’s the same nervous tick she’s always possessed and she swears Elin’s steps falter for a moment, like she’s recognized the significance. The idea causes a deep-seeded something to ache inside her guts. 

And then Elin is there, saying, “Hey,” simple a anything, like this isn’t some momentous event. 

Agnes always was the less self-assured one between the two of them, but it’s infuriating, the calm casualness on Elin’s face. 

“Hi,” Agnes says, feigning a modicum of nonchalance, or at least trying. 

Elin smiles, slow and gorgeous. “You look good, Aggy.”

The nickname takes her by surprise. It was an endearment, something that had evolved over their romantic relationship. No one has uttered the name since. 

Agnes nods, mouth dry. “You, too.”

Elin actually looks shy at that and it's a small triumph. It’s shades a girl she once shared a school bathroom with. 

“How have you been?”

Its infruitsting honestly, this small talk. Like they are supposed to sum up over a decade of silence in a few minutes. Like Elin couldn’t have reached out to her if she really cared how Agnes has been. 

“It’s been fourteen years,” is what she says because honestly, fuck it. 

Elin flinches slightly before regrouping. “We didn’t leave off on the best of terms,” Elin points out, level-headed and calm. 

Agnes shrugs. “You were being a child.”

Elin laughs. “Oh, I was being a child? You were the one who couldn’t handle me going out to clubs. You were the one who kept stop coming to Stockholm on weekends.” 

Agnes opens her mouth to be contrary before realizing Elin is right. She had been selfish, immature and insecure. They were characteristics of her late teen-early 20s that she hadn’t yet gotten a handle on. It’s not some shocking revelation -- she’s gained self-awareness through the years -- but it still feels like a breakthrough to be admitting it silently in front her first love. 

So maybe it shouldn’t just be silent. 

“You’re right.” 

Elin blinks and it’s almost comical. “I am?” 

Agnes shrugs. “Fourteen years is a long time,” she replies, like that explains it all.

Elin nods seriously, like it does. 

They stare at one another, and _now_ there is an electric charge to the air. 

Just then the song shifts and the new Robyn single comes through the speakers, because of course it does. It’s like every cliche movie scene come to life. Agnes remembers listening to her first big hit in her room, daydreaming of Elin and what her lips might feel like. Sometimes she can’t help living in a constant state of nostalgia, when everything tends to come full circle in the end anyways. 

 

Elin smirks like she knows exactly what Agnes is thinking. Hell, she probably does. 

“Shall we?” Elin asks, nodding to the dance floor, all smug bravado just like twenty years prior. It’s unnerving and comforting at once.

“Sure, why not,” she replies, not about to admit she’s terrified as all fuck. 

Viktoria is next to them as they walk the few feet to the center, swaying in her wheelchair with a teenage girl. 

“My daughter!” She yells to them over the music and Agnes’ mouth nearly drops open in shock. Obviously she knew it was likely that many of their classmates were married or have kids or both, but it’s never been something on her own personal radar. Well, the marriage part possibly, but definitely not the kids part. It’s surreal to say the least. 

“Nice to meet you!” Elin calls over before directing her attention back to Agnes. The song is fast and there’s no real reason for them to touch. Elin moves closer regardless, until they’re matching one another’s rhythms and in each others space. They had danced a few times, out at clubs in Stockholm, drunk and happy and kissing in front of strangers. 

Agnes really shouldn’t be thinking about kissing and Elin in the same sentence, especially when she can smell Elin’s perfume and realizes it’s exactly what she wore back then. 

The song changes to something slow, because of course it does. Viktoria and her daughter head off toward the food and Agnes clears her throat. She looks up at Elin through her bangs ( _just like in high school_ , she thinks), ready to step backward. She doesn’t get a chance, though, because Elin is tugging her in close and whispering “dance with me” in her ear. Warmth shoots through her body and Agnes nods, unable to form words. They dance cheek to cheek, Elin’s hands on her hips and Agnes’ on her shoulders. 

It’s intoxicating; it’s being pulled into Elin’s orbit again like nothing has changed. But everything has changed, they’re not the same two people and this is not a movie. Agnes finds trouble remembering those three points when Elin rests her head on Agnes’ shoulder. It’s a tender, vulnerable move. It’s something she did once as she leaned in to kiss Agnes in the back of a car on a night Agnes will never forget, burned into her core. 

She exhales and drags her hands down Elin’s back, holding her the way she’s longed to since walking into this damn gym, maybe before that. Probably before that. 

“I’m only here tonight for you,” Elin whispers. 

A shiver runs up her spine and it’s like coming awake after a long slumber. 

Agnes pulls back, dislodging Elin from her shoulder. She searches her eyes and finds no manipulation, no games. Only sincerity. 

She’s leaning in before she can even contemplate her actions. It’s alright, though, because Elin meets her halfway. There’s something significant in that action, and it spurs Agnes on, prompts her to deepen the kiss into something as desperate as their backseat make-out twenty years ago. . 

Elin smiles against her lips, again likes she can read Agnes’ mind. They pull back at the same time and burst into a giggle fit before kissing again, softer, longer. Elin’s hand slips into hers when they break apart a second time. They look around at their classmates, some eyes are on them, some don’t know they exist. 

“Wanna?” Elin asks, tugging on her hand. 

Agnes looks down, looks around. She smiles, raising their hands up and lacing their fingers together properly. 

“Yeah, let’s go out.” 

Elin laughs brightly and march out of the gym the same way they marched down and out of that hallway. It feels as exhilarating and terrifying as it did then. At sixteen, Agnes had no idea what the future held. She only knew she’d officially come out in Fucking Åmål in the goddamn 90s and there was no real guidebook for something like that. At thirty-six, Agnes still has no idea what the future holds. She has no idea if this will be a fling or if she’s about to embark on rekindling her first true romance. 

She’s well aware that life begins when the credits end. She wonders if maybe this time, it’ll hold her happy ending.

Either way, she’s ready to walk through the door of this gymnasium and out into the real world. 

END


End file.
